


Masters of Only So Much

by Miandraden1



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: And I love Obi, Because I didn't write a proper timeline, How Do I Tag, How uncivilized, How undignified, I actually have plans for this, I follow a chronological timeline except when I don't., I forgot them, I like dialogue, I love Dooku, I think my writing gets progressively better, I'm disrespecting Dooku's privacy and mentioning his apprentices, Like An Idiot, Oh Dear, Or not, There's gonna be politics, Xanatos (kinda mentioned??), You know that I have other WIP I should be writing., but I am not sure, hahaha, have fun, remember when I said I had plans?, so this was born
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23380222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miandraden1/pseuds/Miandraden1
Summary: To say that Master Yan Dooku was displeased by the passivity of his Order would be an understatement. There was something in his very center that dictated he act meaningfully, and he was not so hesitant that he would not abide.
Relationships: Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dooku & Qui-Gon Jinn
Comments: 33
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter 1

“Disappointment is a sort of bankruptcy - the bankruptcy of a soul that expends too much in hope and expectation.”  
― Eric Hoffer

* * *

The Temple was greeted with a strange sight that evening. Thundering through the halls, signature concealed but presence immediately recognizable, the tall human with dark eyes and dark hair and dark robes seemed to threaten murder. It was the little cues, you see, that revealed this about an experienced Jedi, for no Jedi was supposed to lose their temper. It was the large brisk steps and the determined eyes, the lack of pauses in turns, and barely a nod in elevators to greet comrades. It was the solid bearing in an agile body that could step aside for you but wouldn’t. It was in the silence of a million thoughts that were no contemplation.

But this was a Master.

In younger Knights, you could sense out the muted sizzling in the Force, and witness frowns on faces unused to them. In padawans, the restless movements of anxiety, the need to contain energy they desired their masters not see, which was inevitably seen. Initiates were the easiest to notice as mad, as well as the easiest to dismiss. Masters were difficult not to take notice of, but if they were mad, they often desired not to set an example. It was not unusual, though most on the Temple didn’t quite know it, that angry masters would irradiate a suggestion of anonymity.

The certain cues to look out for in angry Jedi, subtle as they were, became completely invisible thus. If without looking for it you saw a master’s anger, it meant they quite simply didn’t care.

And there were few Jedi as dignified as Master Yan Dooku.

Unusual indeed.

Though it appeared a less exceptional occurrence when he entered the Master’s Training Salle and made a beeline for another tall dark-haired Master. “Qui Gon!” Their peers shared glances of amusement, preemptively taking their leave, as the younger man prepared with feet shoulder-width apart and hands on his hips.

Only the mats were left to see.

“Master.”

“You cannot have possibly understated the seriousness of the situation.”

Qui-Gon straightened, and a rueful smile appeared even as his shoulders relaxed. “This would hardly be the first time the Council gave no ears to my words, or the urgings of the Force, for that matter. Fortunately, I was well in the position to act without their approval.”

“This is _graver_ than the actions you could take.” Said Master Dooku, his tone rising and falling characteristically. “The problem is not solved. The attempt to resolve it is nonexistent. Worse, we now _tolerate_ what we ought to solve!”

Qui-Gon had recently been assigned the dismantling of a human trafficking ring in the Vidicx system. Upon arrival, he had immediately noted that while the officials were helpful, none seemed particularly alarmed at the situation. Some digging had shown that the abductions had conveniently begun when the system began dealing with food shortages and overpopulation in some regions. The strife could perhaps explain the rise of criminal activity. Until one considered that this was a Mid Rim system, far enough from the Rim to enjoy aid that they just then asked for, after the economy enjoyed a _miraculous_ boost.

Marginalized citizens, kept ignorant of current affairs and ignored in turn, easily calmed to irregularities, disappearing by the thousands in just the areas of high population density just as the government received important donations. Fewer mouths to feed, more money in the system, and the opportunity for a pat on the back when they closed down on the whole operation. They should never have tried to project legitimacy by asking for a Jedi's involvement. 

Qui-Gin had seen to it that the proof of the Elected Potentate selling the lives of the lower-class reached public knowledge in a very explicit manner. The Galactic Court, as well as the Local Government, had been obligated to react, bringing down several other high-profile officials and thus, also the trafficking ring from the bud. 

This didn’t change that the lower class still enjoyed no real state protection, that the high traffic movement couldn’t have turned a blind eye only within the system, and that the relevant justice bodies didn’t react until the middle class put media pressure in the name of the lower class. (Hence Qui-Gon’s uncensored revelation of the situation.)

He may or may not have used his former master’s contacts in the spread of that information.

His arrival was, of course, marked by the Council’s rebuke. He had overstepped his mandate.

“Many perished,” Qui-Gon said, aggrieved. “But the responsible are detained, their authority stripped away, and thousands were saved. They _are_ safe.” He remembered the little Rodian girl, galaxy eyes so scared and then so hopeful. He had made a point of seeing to her on his departure, and she had been taken care of. 

“They are safe _now_ because you made a circus out of clowns. There should not have been any. The fact that the systems persist means the responsible parties are _not_ detained. The ones who should take your testimony and properly investigate the situation _won’t_.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “The Council is blinded by constraints of their own making, but…” He made for one of the dueling platforms. “The Force will prevail and lead us to where we are most needed. As it did with this mission.” He stood in position.

Dooku’s chin lifted, and here was what Qui-Gon had braced himself against. “That’s it? I would have thought I trained you to have greater perseverance.”

“You trained me for measured consideration. I am not all-knowing. I am a persuasive diplomat, but not nearly well informed enough on the subtleties of politics as _you_ are, Yan. _When_ the Force needs you to weed out the corruption on the high levels of the Republic, I do not doubt it will set you on the path. It did not ask it of me.”

The older master’s eyes narrowed. “This obstinate need to castigate yourself over the choices of that dark padawan is getting tiresome, Qui-Gon. If you need to justify that failure by turning blind to your own virtues, you are proving to be distressingly proud. It is a _pathetic_ attitude _._ ”

“Perhaps,” said Qui-Gon, with the tone of someone less than assenting, eyes narrowed. “But I follow the Force.”

Yan Dooku’s face contorted as much as he ever allowed it to, and to Qui-Gon, it was a scowl clear-as-day.

Master Jinn held out his lightsaber, in the signature stance of Ataru. “Are we sparring or not?”

“Not.” Master Dooku left as quickly as he came.

* * *

“There are some things in this world you rely on, like a sure bet. And when they let you down, shifting from where you've carefully placed them, it shakes your faith, right where you stand.”  
― Sarah Dessen


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick writing time! Yay!

“It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.”  
― William Blake

* * *

Trust in the Republic, we must. Hmmm. Work alone, the Jedi cannot. So proud as to think you know, hmm, the way act, others must? Much bigger than individual tragedies, the Force is, yes. Death, a penalty, it is not. That defiance, mm, too old for it, you are. Too young for it, has always been, your apprentice. Unbiased, we must be, political affiliation, we have not. Value your dedication, I do, but that fierceness, hmmm, worrisome, it is. Vain, you risk being, when of your dignity, so vigilant you are.

Master Yoda was the Grand Master of the Order and had been for as long as Dooku could remember. Still, as a young initiate, being chosen as his padawan had felt only natural given his dedication and the seriousness with which he considered his position. Had any of his bright-eyed hollow-headed peers been chosen, he would have considered it a travesty. As such, he had walked into that apprenticeship with his head held high. He had followed the hobbling little creature to the top levels of the Temple where the most spacious apartments, with the most impressive windows, were rumored to be.

He realized things were not going to proceed as expected at the very door. The wall-tall panes were completely covered up. The musty rooms were illuminated by dim lowly-placed lamps and there was hot vapor coming from _somewhere_. Every surface seemed to house a plant and moss had been allowed to grow on corners. The furniture seemed to be _wood_. Yoda had appeared before him and shared hot murky bitter-tasting tea from the equally infested kitchen. He drank it kneeling before a table that was too small. Then he was shown to his room, where only the bed seemed to be new and pest-free.

It is still so clear on his mind. He was a thin lanky child, standing in the middle of that room and not wishing to touch anything. _This is suffocating_.

Now, as a master, standing before the door to those rooms which hadn’t changed in hundreds of years, it was still stifling.

He knew how that green creature would look at him, could picture the wrinkles somehow becoming more pronounced in that squashed face, and those humming noises he would make. Always, be it because he was disappointed, considering, angry, or even amused. His first years were spent half training and half trying to figure out those hums.

All of it, unacceptable.

His years as a knight had given him the unique pleasure of a tidy room that was his space, only his. No plants humming out into the Force and no insects buzzing about. A silence that was self-maintained and elegant. Counters that were always dry. Objects that were always well placed. No harrumphing laughs in the middle of the night to give him a heart attack.

Komari had deceived him into thinking all humans preferred order in their living quarters. She was not here anymore.

Rael had been a gentle awakening to reality. Nothing was ever tidy with that young man around. Rael Averross did not hold himself to the dignity he would expect any Jedi should, but the apprentice hadn’t had strong opinions about anything. A strong body and agile mind that lacked absolute direction. There was never any conflict with Rael, but his former padawan would not endeavor to understand his master's priorities.

Qui-Gon, though, had his heart in the right place. Rocks and plants and animals used to appear in their rooms without warning, seemingly to mock everything he had ever come to dislike under Yoda’s instruction. But he knew to expect it, the moment he saw Qui-Gon become enthralled with a weed, eyes closing and fingers reverent. It was the mark of an extremely compassionate individual, much more than he himself would ever be. Master Jinn was someone he could be incredibly proud of.

Indeed, Qui-Gon Jinn understood exactly what bothered him.

But it was that tenacious and imbecilic need to limit himself to the present, that absolute denial of a much bigger picture, his trauma-induced resentment, that rendered him unable to take precautions.

Yan Dooku stepped away from the door. He had nothing to talk about with the green master.

He had nothing to talk about with anybody here.

The Jedi are creatures of peace and contemplation. They meditate and absorb the resonance of the very universe around them. Depending on the strength of their connection, some needed to step back lest they lose themselves in the Force. Younglings were especially vulnerable in the fragility of their identity. Still, few Jedi ever fell prey to that trap, but it was not unheard of amongst the younger knights.

There is such relief in being more than oneself.

It is thus understandable that no Jedi took note of Master Dooku beyond his legendary presence, as he visited room upon room on the temple. After years of eating at his place, he took his meal on the commissary. Despite his dislike of nature, he could be seen strolling through the gardens in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He observed matches rather than dominating them. He passed by padawan-level classes and even visited the Initiate rooms.

This, of course, with a strong Force-suggestion to be left alone. Master-hungry initiates could be tiresome.

It was then, observing the young faces that surrounded him, that he met eyes with a boy.

The human, even more baby-faced than his peers, seemed to stare at him knowingly. His Force-presence was barely discernible, weak in many ways, but placid in a manner that had very little to do with the boy’s emotions. Qui-Gon’s signature, as a child, had resonated with all he felt and the relations that held him. This boy seemed to flow through everything, what constructed him now irrelevant when he was the cog of a much larger machine. This boy was a son of the Unifying Force, and though the young one did not know it yet, his senses had just identified Dooku as a defining pebble in destiny.

The boy had cold blue eyes and brilliant cherry hair, not unlike Komari’s.

This is when Dooku returned to his rooms, where he served himself a glass of wine and observed the Galactic Senate, standing ostentatiously over Coruscant. After, he dressed in his most comfortable clothes, and sat, cross-legged, before his lightsaber. He and his crystal meditated together.

* * *

“Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.”  
― Jodi Picoult

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note** : I apologize for the time it took me to post this chapter because I've had it in mind for a while but hadn't typed it. This is because I was working on an [Obi-Wan article](https://videogamecontrollers.siterubix.com/obi-wan-kenobi-the-unsung-hero/), which you _may_ be interested in.

Without further ado, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

“Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.”  
― Alexander Pope

* * *

A fundamental aspect of any Jedi, letting go was. Held back the misery of the Dark Side, it did, of reality, acceptance it was. Too old, he was, for not letting go. Always learning, however, finding out something new, yes, constantly. When to train Initiate Kenobi, Master Jinn refused, a test that was. Like right now, that his former apprentice’s lightsaber, he held.

Worried and troubled, young Master Windu was. “This is… a very significant turn of events.”

He hummed, said, “Know this, I do.”

“You sense the agitation in the Force, Master?”

“Mine only.” To his bones. “Only mine.”

* * *

Stepping outside, knowing he would never have to come back, was a blanket of peace enveloping him. Coruscant never seemed to shine with such clarity.

The first time he had left the Temple for Illum, he had found his peers to be disconcertingly excited- as if every Jedi was not destined to construct his lightsaber. The biting cold contrasted against the relief of setting foot within home again. Master Yoda had never left the Temple much though, so most of his training missions saw him loaned to other Masters. Some he grew to respect and others he was never sure deserved to be called masters (or knights.) Something was always clear: on missions, there was always something to learn and someone to help. Royalty would offer him perfumed quarters, under the misguided impression he would lean in their favor, of course, but it was so pleasant, so _dignified_. He appreciated his philosophical studies under his master, certainly, but there were always points of disagreement. Even back then, his teenage self judged the Grandmaster of the Order for enfolding himself in the small reality of the Temple. Knighthood had been such an exercise in disappointment and futility. How many times had he arrived at those halls, brimming with victory, agreements under his sleeve _if only_ the Jedi Order can pronounce itself on this or that matter? But no, the diminutive deity of the Council Chamber answered, the Order cares not for politics. Shackled to the Order, shackled to a lazy senate, and unable to bring about change in any meaningful way. Only ever curing symptoms. Never again would he come here for _permission_.

And the little green creature said this was a _mistake_.

Dooku would have to, regrettably, leave dressed as a Jedi. Cloth variety was not a priority for the Order, if anything was. “Misrepresentation is a serious problem, Lady Jenza.”

The woman, younger than him and of gentle expression, small and blue in the palm of his hand, said, “Despair not, brother. Attire befitting your title will be ready by the time you arrive. Your introduction to the court shall be proper.”

“As proper as it can be, under the circumstances.” He surmised. The Force tugged on his focus. Here, on the landing platform, with a little bag that may as well be empty slung over one shoulder, was the boy of vibrant blond-red hair. Everything on the boy’s posture screamed bewildered defeat, even as the Force refused to acknowledge the boy’s emotions. Nobody accompanied him.

Force, it couldn’t be.

“You are of noble birth and it shows. No one will dispute your place here,” his Comm. Unit said.

“You’ll have to excuse me. A… curious matter has arisen.” He was looming over the child, now, who turned big- not wide- eyes on him.

“You are excused,” the woman said and vanished.

The boy bowed, somehow managing to look smaller. “Greetings, Master… Dooku.”

“My name is Yan Dooku, and it will suffice. What’s yours, Initiate?”

“Oh- I’m not an In- at least- I’m being assigned to the Agricultural Corps.,” the boy corrected miserably. “My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, Sir Dooku.”

Unbelievable. Few Force-sensitives had the benefit of so clearly favoring the Unifying Force, and here was this one, to be wasted as a _peasant_.

Though if the way Sifo was treated stood to prove anything…

“Are you aware of the reason for which you’ve are considered unfit to be a padawan?”

Little shoulders twitched inwards, but the boy held his gaze, kept his brows… almost still. Most of the shame, hurt, or anger swiftly pushed aside. “I am very… emotional, sir, and I’m in danger of falling to the Dark Side. I haven’t- proved to be the most talented in my class either.”

Dooku blinked, slowly. “Proper _training_ does not care for talent. Who said you were Dark?”

Obi-Wan blinked back, slowly. “Pardon?”

“Don’t take me for a fool, young one, your age does not give for such worries.”

“…Master Jinn, sir.”

 _Of course_. This Order was threatening to turn even his already biased apprentice into an _imbecile_.

“Mm- Sir Dooku, my transport may leave me if-”

“Let it.”

Oh, how hope bloomed on that small face.

He said, “I am a Master of this Order no longer. _I_ cannot make you a Jedi Knight.”

The boy kept watching him intently. He had called himself untalented, but Dooku could already glimpse so much _opportunity_ in that mind.

“But I can see you trained, if that will suffice you.”

The boy shook off the bag, folded his hands, and bowed low. “I would be deeply grateful, _Master_.”

“I quite believe I will cherish this arrangement, likewise, young apprentice.” 

“ _Mister_ Dooku, what is going on here?”

Dooku didn’t even want to look, but that would be unseemly. There, in an attempt of justifiable sternness, stood Mace Windu, his old master’s new protégé, no doubt sent by him.

“Why, Master Windu, I am taking on a ward.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi is under the care of the Jedi Order.”

“I’m informed that young Kenobi has been sent under the care of the adjacent Jedi Corps,” he said, and he could see already how peccable Mace’s policy knowledge would prove to be. So much for high prospects. “Under Senate ruling and Order regulation, any who may wish to take custody of a student rejected for knighthood may do so, as long as they comply with the usual requirements of adoption or for guardians. Do you imply to find me lacking?”

Mace never had a pleasant expression, but somehow it expressed more stress than usual. “There is a formal process to follow- which you haven’t gone through.”

A valiant guess. “Indeed, but young Kenobi has acquiesced, have you not?” For this last part, he turned to the boy.

Smart blue eyes flickered between the two masters of the Force. “I have, Sir Dooku.”

“As such,” he continued, “he is under no obligation to comply with the program the Order has set for him, and the process can be completed virtually.”

“Even so,” a wizened voice rang out as a tiny figure approached hobbling beside Mace, “meant for you, this pupil is not.”

“Greetings, Grandmaster. Have you come to speak of the Will of the Force? Or, perhaps, your own resolutions?” The venerable master narrowed his green eyes but did not answer. Mace looked ready to begin an undignified rant, so Dooku again turned to the promising boy. “Have you felt the Force warn you away from my tutelage?”

Obi-Wan was clearly nervous, but… “Nothing I could identify as such, Mast- _Sir_.”

Mace pounced on the boy, “Yan Dooku is _not_ a Master anymore, Initiate Kenobi.”

“I know,” the boy answered, gaze firm, “he informed me.”

“The correct instructor, I sense, for this youngling, you are not.” 

_Oh, Master_. Dooku said, “Would you prefer _Qui-Gon Jinn_ to take the position?”

Obi-Wan visibly jerked. “But Master Jinn doesn’t- he made it clear he wouldn’t train me.”

And _he_ shouldn’t. “Indeed. Luckily,” Dooku said, “I am not tied to what you may sense or approve of, anymore, Old Master. I can sense young Kenobi deserves to be trained and make it so.”

And there was nothing they could really say to that.

* * *

“I’m not in this world to live up to your expectations and you’re not in this world to live up to mine.”  
― Bruce Lee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Anyways, I always am up for a little discussion, so if you have any idea you want to comment, I'm happy to hear it. If not, that's cool too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Qui-Gon Jinn chapter, crisscrossing time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope everyone is healthy.

“Grief is not as heavy as guilt, but it takes more away from you.”  
― Veronica Roth

* * *

Mischief takes many shapes and forms. Compassion does too. They are not concepts often seen as complementary, but Padawan Jinn knew to keep quiet about the Lirb in his quarters.

Master Dooku would notice if he took any food from the table (he considered snacking improper) so Qui-Gon did not swallow the last bite. It was gross, but Lirbs were omnivores who so fed their younglings. He saw this on Kilmaulsias, where he took her from. She was small and delicate. A strong enough grip could easily squash her. Tholme would describe her as a lizard with bat wings. The poor thing made tiny noises whenever he moved it, and he could so feel the resonance of her discomfort. Like the sick cats in the alleyways of Coruscant, the ones who were always tired, and it made hollow the place under his sternum. He made her a small swaddle of improvised blankets from cut sections of his pants which nobody saw. He had taken the first aid kit from the bathroom, disinfected her wounds (she growled lowly), and covered them in bacta. She would clearly scar, but she would fly, he was sure of it. Still, she couldn’t move. She could barely glance his way.

Instead of going to spar with Padawan Tahl as he was usually wont to do, instead of visiting the Room of a Thousand Fountains, he had gone to the Archives. There he found the academic section about Lirbs- they could hunt just fine without their wings, but they needed them for seasonal migrations. Evolution dictated that a Lirb who couldn’t migrate would die, and so, they became depressed without flight. He had tried not to worry about this, to cocoon her with comfort in the Force, to keep her in the low light she preferred- until she stopped eating.

She didn’t know she could fly, so he attempted to make her realize. He set her on the edge of his table, and he called to her. He touched her tail so that she may be persuaded to jump. By the third day, he threw her, but she didn’t react- he caught her with the Force just before she hit the floor.

The fourth day, when he returned from breakfast, she wasn’t alive.

Small animals seem to twitch with every breath- you can easily see the sides of their slim bodies expand and contract. You can feel the motion clearly in the palm on your hand, and wings brush against your skin with the movement. If you are attentive, you can listen to each of these motions. Qui-Gon didn’t know when he picked her up, but as he held her, he didn’t feel anything, hear anything- he could only look into her eyes, tiny empty black pearls.

Dooku said, “I see this enterprise has at last reached its conclusion.”

Qui-Gon blinked, turned, and saw his Master standing at his door. His tall silhouette blocked off the light from the living room. The padawan had to gather some will before answering, “You knew, Master?”

Of course, Padawan. _Of course_. Master Dooku listed the things he noticed, things Qui-Gon thought he had concealed but now seemed obvious. Yan Dooku kept talking with absolute neutrality as if his padawan wasn’t feeling smaller and smaller with each passing moment- can’t keep a secret, unable to save this one life. Then he said, “Yet the effort and dedication you applied is commendable.”

“Master?”

“You care, Padawan.” Dooku walked into the room. “It is not something I will criticize you for.” The master frowned at the fabric on the table. “But there are more effective ways to save lives. You are accompanying me to the senate.”

Qui-Gon glanced down at the lirb. “Today, Master?”

“Yes. Today. You will see your abilities can be made use of quite well there.”

This, Qui-Gon realized belatedly, was comfort. “Thank you, Master.”

“Don’t thank me for training you- get ready so I may be allowed to do so. With an intact set of clothing, if you do have it.” Dooku made to leave.

“But Master Yan?”

Dooku paused.

Qui-Gon said, “I could have saved her. That would have made it worthwhile.”

His master looked him directly in the eye. “Your attempt to save a creature already set on dying was a waste- you would have known her fate with only a finger on the Cosmic Force.”

 _And give her up?_ Qui-Gon looked down at his little lirb and her sad inert eyes. _With her life Force still thrumming?_ He frowned.

“Now dispose of that thing.”

* * *

 _This is punishment._ Qui-Gon scratched at the soot on his robes. _The Force is punishing me._ He closed his eyes, felt all the aches he could, the tense tendon from his back to his shoulders, the dryness of his mouth, the pricks of pain on his face. Bandomeer had been exhausting, challenging, in all the ways a Jedi’s mission was not supposed to be, and he wanted to feel it. The discomfort could easily be soothed away with the Force, but Qui-Gon couldn’t see the point, not when the weight on his chest would remain.

He breathed in, breathed out, and held onto it. The doors opened, and the sky shined intrusively behind the masters. He let the contrast obscure the faces of the Council. He let go of the usual enhancements to perception, and as he came to stand at the center of the room, he felt as far away as he wanted to be. Qui-Gon bowed.

Yoda said- something.

Master Jinn straightened. “Xanatos is alive.”

* * *

Master Dooku was not used to visits from his former padawans, but he was not about to turn this one away. They could have compromised on the drinks, but alas, each one picked their poison. He tipped the chilled glass and the dark [bordeaux](https://www.google.com/search?q=bordeaux+color&rlz=1C1CHZL_esEC762EC763&sxsrf=ALeKk03UfEECqqqPFP_RAoZE9OXo8UlMqA:1586874513537&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwihqrqdkOjoAhVSmuAKHazZA40Q_AUoAXoECBEQAw&biw=1242&bih=605) liquid settled on his tongue, soft yet powerful. Yoda criticized his fascination with fine alcohol, but the ancient creature repudiated class even as it chased comfort.

Qui-Gon eyed him and set down his steaming drink. “My padawan is struggling in a manner I cannot relate to, Master.”

Dooku savored a moment longer, then drank. “A bleak conundrum.”

Master Jinn did not even shift. “Last time Feemor and Xanatos sparred, my padawan mocked his origins.”

“And how does young Feemor fair, after this traumatizing event?”

“Feemor is strong and steady, he does not worry me. Xan, however…”

“Thus, you seek advice.”

“You would understand him better.”

Slowly, the exquisite turned bland. Yan put his drink aside. “You would accuse me of immature _bickering_ even as you require me?”

Qui-Gon stirred his tea. Sipped.

The older master said, “I _am_ still unaware of my grandpadawan’s insult.”

Master Jinn held his cup uneasily. “He said that, as always, a commoner falls so that a noble may succeed.”

* * *

Qui-Gon felt the heat, the char, the knowledge, like a finger digging into his forehead, that he had raised a child into a creature that would burn life. He saw the black shape, thin and small, curled, a breeze and it crumbled into ash. Nothing more than a mound of soil.

Xanatos was clever, but he had trained the boy. He found a way to stop most of the bombs.

But not all.

Qui-Gon blinked, and before him was the gaze of his Grandmaster. “With the Council’s leave,” he heard his voice say, “I will begin my investigation.” He made to bow, but a cane tapped the floor.

“Wait outside, you must. News, _I_ have.”

* * *

Master Dooku leaned back into his couch, picked his glass. “ _Those_ were his words?”

Qui-Gon frowned. “He had more flair. He was proud of the taunt.”

“Well.” Yan swirled his wine. “I heard no falsehood.”

* * *

Master Yoda was the last to leave the Council Room, and he did so with his characteristic gait. Qui-Gon met him. “Grandmaster,” he said, “what happened?”

It had been so long since he last spoke to Feemor, and he dreaded.

Green eyes narrowed on him, before the small being deflated. “Your old master, left, he has.”

Qui-Gon crossed his arms, attempted to sound kind. “Master Dooku is fond of extended missions. Why is this urgent?”

* * *

“No falsehood? He spoke as if upholding the natural order.”

“Your boy spoke of historical truth. Nobility is sustained by those of lower station, often achieved due to a cleverer understanding of the situation.”

“Debatable.” Qui-Gon held out a hand. “It was cruel and uncalled for. Xanatos is talented, he has earned his confidence, but I do not want to incite arrogance in him.”

Dooku waved it off. “My grandpadawan is proud and unsubtle. It is a common ailment of youth. What you need to instruct him on is decorum.”

Qui-Gon sighed and observed the leaves floating in his opaque water. “I don’t want him _thinking_ in those terms.”

“He will,” Dooku asserted. “He _is_ nobility, for all the Order plays mix and match. Were he to renounce his vows, he’d find he is provided for. It is not something to worry about, Qui-Gon; it does not make him dark.”

* * *

“A _master_ , he is not. Renounced his position within the Order, he has.”

Qui-Gon blinks at the small creature. “He… left?"

* * *

“Of course not,” Qui-Gon says, standing up. “Xanatos will make an excellent Jedi.”

“Then I fail to see what bothers you so.”

* * *

“Complacent, he accuses the Order of being. That lost the way we have, he claims.” Yoda frowned, and paused, side-eyeing his grandpadawan.

Qui-Gon barely noticed. “How- he’s thought so for years. He’s never set aside the Force’s call.”

The diminutive master shook his head. “To reclaim his hereditary rights, to Serenno, he went. With politics, hmmmm, he believes, more good, he can do.”

A Jedi does not form attachments. Qui-Gon breathed in, a slow creeping realization biting at his collarbone, a snake that wrapped around his shoulders and encircled his head. His lineage now consisted of himself and Yoda.

A Jedi does not form attachments. He belonged to the Force, everything he was, everything he would be, everything he felt. If this was the Force’s Will…

Yoda continued, “To take younglings even, hmm, of the right, he thought himself.”

“…what?”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, as a ward, he took. An apprentice, in truth. _Outside_ the Order, an _apprentice_.” The last words passed slowly through Yoda’s lips, dragged out and making his ears twitch. Ancient disapproval flooded the hall, subtle in the Force but deeply familiar to Qui-Gon.

“The… Initiate?”

“No longer.”

Phantom fire licked at Qui-Gon’s fingertips, and he breathed in ash.

* * *

“No one blames her."  
"That never matters," said Alec. "Not when you blame yourself.”  
― Cassandra Clare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D  
> Thank you for reading!  
> Do tell me if the time flashbacks confused you or if they enhanced the reading as I hoped it would?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems Dooku and Obi-Wan are now a pair- they work it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! The first half took me all day and the second was very quick and I don't understand how writing works... 
> 
> Hope you are all in good health.

“Doubt is an uncomfortable condition, but certainty is a ridiculous one.”  
― Voltaire

* * *

Obi-Wan looked at the dark red interior of the ship, with its golden highlights and carefully spaced grey surfaces. Framing the room, the couches- not seats- looked like expensive sideways oval bowls filled with black liquid pillows, and Obi-Wan suspected he could sink into them. The viewports, though they should have allowed him to look out at Coruscant, projected a landscape of pale mountains over green plains that gave way into a lake. He felt as though walking right up to it and diving into the water. The carpet was a satin dark, and somehow, it asked that he take off his boots and thread his toes through it. Not that he planned to do that. He was standing in a luxury vessel. A vessel for royalty.

The space was far too large for him.

Master Dooku emerged from deeper into the ship, took one glance at him, and he said, “You seem conflicted, Apprentice.”

“Master Dooku, I… I’m grateful to be here."

“You should be. Yet that is not what I sense from you.”

Obi-Wan blinked, and looked at his new master, tall and regal, fitting his surroundings. Dressed in dark Jedi tunics, but not a master of the Order. Not a Jedi, as he would not be either.

Obi-Wan swallowed. “I don’t understand Master. Master Yoda said that I was not to be trained, and you asked _me_. My judgment cannot be greater than Master Yoda’s.”

His master nodded. “The agreement we came to was about your life, young one, not… master Yoda’s,” he said, then he walked towards a window and swiped down on its surface. The view of Coruscant was back, and they hadn’t taken off yet. And it wasn’t only them. “Your original transport is still there if you are not satisfied with this arrangement,” the older man continued drily and raised his chin. A mechanic walked around the other ship, covered in grease and swiping at his hands uselessly, probably working on solving the delay.

Obi-Wan sighed. “I am more than satisfied- I want to uphold the ideals and mission of a Jedi, even if I cannot officially hold the title. Titles don’t matter. But we- I… refuted Master Yoda. If my apprenticeship is not the will of the Force, I… I don’t know, Master. I don’t want to do the wrong thing. If… I _am_ Dark…“

The master tilted his head lightly. “You did not have the same worry with contradicting Mace Windu. Do you think less of his ability to sense the Force?”

Obi-Wan was already shaking his head. “N-no, no, master- Master Yoda is renown for his connection to the Force, of course, but…”

Dooku came to stand before the boy. “But…?”

Obi-Wan told the floor, “he has been kind to me.” The former Jedi Master cleared his throat, and the child looked up at him. “I don’t want to be ungrateful to him, as much as I don’t want to do the same to you, Master.”

“Did you lie, young one, when I asked if the Force warned you against me?”

The boy frowned. “No, Master.”

Dooku breathed in, standing straight as always, and had a moment when all he saw was Qui-Gon, as the boy had been the first time he came from his Initiate rooms, admitting he was scared of him, his new master, of all people. This child did not fear him, but he was, indeed, deeply afraid.

 _Force,_ he was old.

“Sit with me, Obi-Wan.” Dooku sat in one of the couches. Obi-Wan hesitated before climbing beside him. “Master Yoda has an eye for potential, and a soft heart for young beings- I don’t doubt he was kind to you, but there _is_ a reason you’re here with me.” The master raised an eyebrow down at him.

Obi-Wan nodded. “I want to be… as much a Jedi as I can be.”

Dooku leaned closer, pressing on the boy an idea both physically and in the dimension of the Force. “And that is something I am willing to give you. Yoda isn’t. He may see you for who you are, but he’s willing to let you slip by. Kindness cannot compare to a _purpose_. Yoda's kindness is nothing to _your_ purpose, do you understand?”

The child tilted his head. “Kindness… did not help me.”

“Precisely. You had to make a choice Apprentice, and the decisions you make must be of your conviction.” He lifted his chin. “You are as much of the Force as Yoda, and the Force will tell you what you need to hear. You mustn’t surrender your belief. Nobody has the power to make you do so, but yourself.” A pause. “What do you believe, Obi-Wan?”

The boy took a deep breath, and his little chest expanded. “I am meant to be a Jedi Knight.”

“Then you’ll be more,” promised Dooku, meeting and holding the child’s eyes. He stood up, “You were wrong before, young Apprentice,” he said.

Obi-Wan blinked at him, nerves on his smile but something inspired in the light of his eyes. “About what, Master?”

“Titles do matter,” Dooku pronounced.

Obi-Wan also stood, slowly, and looked at him with a new kind of thoughtfulness. “Why?”

“Influence, apprentice,” Dooku said. “You can do quite well working with the perception people have of you, and _not_ being a Jedi gives you much freedom to work that perception.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze flickered to one of the viewports, which still projected the plains and the water. “I must _choose_ my titles.”

Dooku smiled at the boy. “Indeed.” He walked towards the door.

Obi-Wan glanced to the other side as he followed, and he stopped. “We lifted off!”

Dooku looked back as the door slipped open. “Indeed.” The window to which they had had their backs towards as they spoke showed the slope of Coruscant against the backdrop of space.

“I did not even feel it,” the boy murmured.

“You need to work to be more conscious with your senses,” Dooku said, “but yes, this vessel is designed for fluidity and comfort.”

“Yes, master… how did you get it?” The boy asked, now walking behind Dooku on the corridor.

“It was offered to me by the governor of New Plympto,” Dooku said, as he gestured to the passenger rooms. They had… beds, not bunks. Big beds with silk comforters and house-like commodities. His master entered one room and began disposing of his outermost layers.

“Is this… proper of us?” Obi-Wan squished one of the pillows, then, watching his master closely in case of a negative reaction, let himself plop down on the bed.

“As the probable heir of Serenno rule and his warden? Why, it is expected,” Dooku said mildly.

Obi-Wan jerked up, sat on the bed. “Serenno rule?”

“Did you think me a wealthy enough newly released Jedi to own such a ship?”

Obi-Wan took a breath and shrugged, “Maybe as a Jedi someone believed they owed you favors. This is not from your fortune, after all, Master,”

Dooku frowned at the youngster. “I had vows as a Jedi and I do respect them.”

Obi-Wan lowered his head. “Yes, I apologize, master.”

False shame was a great tool, the art of manipulation quite useful, and while Dooku sensed the child had great potential for it, this was not an act. “I don’t have a fortune as of yet,” He clarified and waited for the boy to straighten again. “This gift is to my civilian persona- the man must have some timely informants. The governor knows of my political views. I believe he expects me to help him in obtaining senate representation.”

His apprentice leaned back a little, said, “But… New Plympto is part of the republic?”

“For commercial interests and for abiding the law, and not much else.” The corners of his apprentice’s mouth came down. “As a Jedi, there is not much to do about it. Outside the Order, however…”

“I think I understand, Master…” Said Obi-Wan, and then he had a thought. “Master, before… when you were telling it is… alright for me to pursue training, what would you have done if I had refused anyway?”

Nothing passed by this boy. The future count allowed himself a smirk. “I would not have left you to become a _farmer_ , I assure you, and I suppose we would be heading to Serenno. I have it on good authority that my home planet's education is quite advanced, and if not, it will be so.”

“We… _aren’t_ going to Serenno?”

* * *

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how he felt about this.

The Force was singing, like the many voices of a chorus, not unlike walking the halls of the Jedi Temple, but without mental shields and with minds of simplicity, personalities and souls without thoughts. And complete darkness. This last aspect was perhaps not a problem since Obi-Wan had been trained to navigate with the Force rather than his eyes, and the walls all had presences. But the ice that seemed to seep through his boots, the sounds of dripping water, and the soaked chills that occasionally befell him were… tacitly much more unpleasant. He couldn’t stop the tapping of his chattering teeth and was only grateful Master Dooku was not here with him to sense his trembling. He had always imagined his trip to Illum would be made with good preparation and much thicker, impermeable, clothes. But no, it seemed those were “ _excessive commodities for a supposed trial._ ” Not to mention that Master Dooku, at least now that he wasn’t a Jedi, had no trouble breaking Jedi regulation _currently_.

Hearing the space traffic officials of Illum refer to his Master as "Master Dyas" after the man recited authorization codes was disconcerting. His mentor had only raised an eyebrow and asked if he indeed desired to be trained, and that wasn’t something Obi-Wan would fight against.

Besides, the pilot glanced between them strangely, and Obi-Wan would not reveal they were doing anything improper. 

Still, his master had told him some traditions were worth upholding, reaffirmed that the kyber is the heart of the lightsaber and that the lightsaber is the heart of the Jedi, and said, “you are going to find your _life_ in there, young Kenobi.”

Kyber was for Jedi, and Obi-Wan _would_ be a Jedi, Order at his back or not.

If any crystal wanted him.

Obi-Wan wanted many things as a Jedi, some things that he, admittedly, should not want. He couldn’t deny the curiosity at the galaxy, or the excitement of winning a spar, or the intrigue at his master’s plans, but essentially, he wanted to _help_ people. The Force had been granted to him, and if he could banish a little of the suffering he felt in the universe, a little of the whispers of... great fields of nothing… then it would be enough.

But the Kyber that felt daring, ready, eager- he could feel their presence in the Force, strands of colors he can’t translate to sight, shinning, enticing, but the moment he tried to wrap himself around their call- they would stop. Shy or alarmed, he did not know, but they would skittishly wrap their Force back into themselves, emanating the idea of ordinary rocks. It was as pleasant and as confusing and as overwhelming as he imagined standing in a perfume shop with all the merchandise broken open would feel like, each scent escaping his notice the moment he singled them out.

The longer he was there, the harder it was to breathe, his lungs hardening as if shards of ice were forming inside of him, and his nostrils were an expansive well of ardent cold. He could barely feel his fingers beyond the cold- and his mouth was so rough, like he had swirled acid inside. If anything, he thinks keeping his eyes closed was the best idea he had.

More than Master Yoda and Master Qui-Gon and Master Dooku and himself, if he can’t find a Kyber crystal for himself, then the Force will have made it’s will very clear.

Obi-Wan stepped deeper inside.

* * *

He was laying on the cloud bed on the ship, but then he wasn’t, and it was cold- and then it was hot and he can’t breathe he can’t breathe and he has no hair and he has no hand and his name is not Obi-Wan Kenobi and he is looking down on himself and nothing makes sense and he has to get up but everything aches and he is digging in its swallowing him up and it burns _it burns_ and-

He slipped-

Something cracked and he grabbed a rock-

 _Needles_ , his leg was full of **_needles_**.

Someone yelled.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and there was light.

White.

Obi-Wan looked down, and he couldn’t feel his legs anymore, couldn’t move them, but he could see from how the light reflected that he had broken ice and his legs were underwater.

Obi-Wan didn’t know if he trembled from cold or panic, but quivering muscles tensed and he was dragging _up_ , and the snow rasped with every movement. Then he can see the shape of his legs against the snow, or at least so he thinks, because it’s still so dark, but this is _bad_. He knows a couple of things about human anatomy and survival and this is _bad._ And you know what? This is _bad_ without knowing any of that.

Obi-Wan was leaning back and he doesn’t know when he decided that laying down in the snow was a good idea, but he is looking directly at the crystal. This. This is why he is here. He looks at the crystal and he tries to cover his ears to everything but the Force and it listens and answers-

Like a dead weight, the crystal dislodges and falls and it is on his chest.

The Force rises like a loud wave, and it wolfs down the rest of his senses like a tsunami would a city, and all the crystals cheer _._ The light is everywhere, except it isn’t because this side is still dark and it had a lot of kyber and _oh, it’s a path_.

Obi-Wan would want to say that his emergence from the cave was heroic and dignified, but he is pretty sure he stumbled into Master Dooku’s warm blanket. Obi-Wan is not sure how the man managed to procure such a thing, but remembrance will tell him the man wrapped him up like a burrito and carried him back to the ship.

When Obi-Wan wakes up, they have already departed Illum and his master is sitting cross-legged on the other bed, looking at him and holding a purple crystal.

“When you’re ready,” his master says in that deep voice of his, and Obi-Wan cannot imagine leaving the hot swaddle of fabric he is under, “you’ll have to meditate with your prize, Apprentice, so you can discover an identity together.” Yan’s other hand opens, and there, a white crystal sits.

It seems to greet him cheerily and curiously, and Obi-Wan cannot help but feel great admiration for the Force-blessed rock. He has the impression it has infinite determination. The kyber whispers gratitude, and it is something just between the two of them.

He made it.

* * *

“Doubt everything. Find your own light.”  
― Buddha Siddhartha Guatama Shakyamuni

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that Dooku is feeling too old and nostalgic and kinda alone, to be honest, to not Dad TM at Obi-Wan a little bit. I don't think Dooku was quite like this to Qui-Gon (Master & Apprentice by Claudia Grey does not seem to suggest so) and it probably gets progressively worse the farther back we go.
> 
> Also, yes, Yan Dooky totally pirated his pal Sifo's authorization codes because he is DONE.
> 
> Obi-Wan's Kyber: Hello there!  
> Obi-Wan: Kyber Crystal!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipping a toe into politics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm alive and writing. Been a while. Thank you if you've come back.

"Deep within, there is something profoundly known, not consciously, but subconsciously. A quiet truth, that is not a version of something, but an original knowing. What this, absolute, truth is may be none of our business…but it is there, guiding us along the path of greater becoming."

-T.F. Hodge

* * *

* * *

Meditating with his kyber is an intense experience. His surroundings disappear and a desert replaces it, stretching like a million futures. Obi-Wan’s sense of it twists and curls and spills from his fingers, shifting in dunes, barely a whisper of emotions that make his heart warm and chokes his throat. A heat that both bites and calms. This place is both a promise and a curse. Had Obi-Wan believed it to be anything other than a symbolic presentation of the force, he would have been baffled by its indeterminism. As it is, he accepts that pain is a distinct aspect of the road ahead of him, separated from the life he knew to chase the life he wanted. He had never imagined these realities would prove incompatible, but alas, so it is. Pain in the way of chosen duty, and the ability to choose duty, satisfaction.

His mind was so clear like this.

At this point, his creche-master would have yanked him back from the Force with an angry brow and concerned words. None of his friends on the Temple had been lost to the Force, but Obi-Wan thought it must have happened, to someone, at some time. Masters were always quite attentive to initiates’ meditations. Connected to the Force as he was now, he knew many had returned to the Force during simple contemplation.

Not for the first time, he recognized his luck at growing up in the temple. With the cool touch of the Cosmic Force, however, the love and the grief that would follow were vague notions, sand following the wind from dune to dune. He has things that he loved and things that he would miss, and that was inconsequential to the grand structure of the Force or his place within it.

He was a Knight of the Force, body and mind of its will.

“Return, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the words came without voice, “use your crystal. Find it, and you’ll find yourself.”

And so, Obi-Wan called to his memory of the kyber, and his infinite determination. The presence of gentleness and comfort with a firm core. Soft and unyielding. Perceptive. Receptive. Knowing. A pillar and a mirror.

Obi-Wan opens his eyes, and his crystal shines blue on his lap.

“The soul of a warrior,” muses Yan Dooku from where he stands at the door, “a respectable color.”

The child of the Force smiles at him calmly, and then his eyes widen and his smile broadens, “Master!” Obi-Wan stands up, soul breathless, climbing down from the bed, “that was!”

“Peace and dignity, apprentice,” says the deep voice of his master.

Obi-Wan nods, rests his chin on his chest, letting the giddiness flow past, releasing it from his fingers even as he caresses his kyber. He looks up, and the amused look on Yan Dooku’s face comes into easy focus. “Master, that was incredible.”

“It is your first meditation with your crystal, Obi-Wan, it is natural that it feels as such. If you are mindful, then you have found your life-long companion.”

“I will be,” Obi-Wan promises, solemn.

“I wouldn’t expect less,” Yan says, incredibly sincere even as he plans how they would go about obtaining a replacement. “I must insist that until you learn the finer points of control to recognize at what point to anchor yourself to your kyber, that you do not meditate on its company unless I am in the vicinity.”

Obi-Wan, with his eyes closed, familiarizing himself with the semi-sentient object, said softly, “Yes, Master.”

The Master of the Force decided he needed to strengthen the connection with his apprentice as quickly as possible. No better way to keep a thumb on a pulse than with a Force bond. “On current priorities,” he said pointedly, raising his chin in what, for a man who stood always straight, was his way of straightening, “we are expecting a formal welcome.”

Obi-Wan, who had glanced up at the tone, also straightened at the news.

* * *

  
Lady Jenza, of the noble House of Dooku, Ruling House of Serenno, was a woman of certain priorities. She had things of her interest that she wished to pursue, and the return of her long-lost brother had been a pleasant surprise. Count Gora and Countess Anya, may their image be remembered with dignity, had at times, briefly, mentioned the existence of an older brother, but Lady Jenza had abided to her education. It was not her place to ask questions, nor speculate. Still, Ramil had indecorously, although mutely, brought up the matter to her, leaning just the side of improper away from his food and towards her chair. She had, internally, agreed that Lady Anya must have suffered some accident during birth. Externally, she had berated Ramil and called for his instructor. At times, she wished she could still do so.

“Serenno has enjoyed prosperity for centuries, now,” Ramil said, loud enough to make it apparent he expected to be heard outside the conversation he was having, raising his sparkling pink drink in a subdued impression of a showman, “and I do believe this is a merit of Serenno itself. Our trade has always been straightforward and mutually beneficial with our affiliates, and our citizens understand the authority of governance. I hereby celebrate the competency of the rulers that came before me!”

Lady Jenza raised her glass, smile graceful, eyes skimming the crowd before focusing.

Nobody, except perhaps the most theoretical of their historians, could name a ruler that came before the dominance of House Dooku.

Indeed, receiving the call of her brother had been a very pleasant surprise, seeing those dark eyes that were very much of Count Gora. She had diligently prepared for his arrival. Dutifully informed the Count of Serenno. As for the second surprise, well…

“May this success perpetuate in the Rule of Serenno!”

Many glasses rose with hers, this time. “May the House of Serenno long last!”

Ramil’s cheek twitched as he sent her a large smile, showing a perfect row of teeth.

* * *

They landed at dusk, in a small circle that could only be a private landing area. The sky the bluest morning grey Obi-Wan had ever seen. Coruscant weather control favored warm colors, and the sky was only ever blue in the middle of the brightest clearest days that were designed. Serenno, Obi-Wan realized with fascination, had natural skies.

Across the expanse of green uninterrupted grass was a lavish structure that Obi-Wan realized was the Serenno palace. From it, dark figures emerged and made an orderly approach to the ship. “Is that…?”

“We have arrived far too early for our formal welcome, Obi-Wan. Those are our dressers,” his master answered, not even looking through the window as he stood waiting at the receiving area of the ship. Then a brow drew upwards. “And Lady Jenza.”

Obi-Wan quickly came to stand beside his master, fussing with his tunics.

“Obi-Wan,” Yan said, and Obi-Wan glanced up at him with a chagrined grin. “While I appreciate the care for your presentation, if nervousness is unseemly for a Jedi, it is quite improper for a noble.”

Obi-Wan’s lips parted slightly, before he said, “I am not a noble.”

“You are my ward, young Kenobi. Better you are considered as such, than not. For now, that is something you can only accomplish with your disposition.”

The ramp of the ship lowered, and with a hand on her chest and another delicately holding up her dress, entered Lady Jenza. Then she spread her arms as if to present herself in the dark dusk-colored dress and refined features, pale skin against night hair, before smiling. ”Brother, you are most welcome.”

Dooku bowed just slightly at the waist, “Lady Jenza, it is a pleasure to meet family at last. May I present you my ward, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said, gesturing to the pre-teen at his side. Obi-Wan followed his master’s lead and only bowed a bit. “Lady Jenza.”

Lady Jenza’s eyes locked on his with exactly the same look master Dooku had given Master Windu. Obi-Wan quickly released his alarm into the Force to smile up at the woman, his master’s _sister_. Her look didn’t change even as she smiled at him, everything else about her projecting a motherly countenance, “Why, I am _delighted_ to meet you, young Obi-Wan.”

* * *

* * *

“The heaviest penalty for declining to rule is to be ruled by someone inferior to yourself.”  
― Plato, [The Republic](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1625515)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, to love and to know. A Tahl and Qui-Gon Chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I wanted to make the chapter longer, but it... got... stuck. So I figured you guys would prefer something sooner rather than wait for a longer chapter later.)

“Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.”  
― James Baldwin

* * *

* * *

There are some memories that are defining in a person’s life. No amount of contemplation on the Force and pragmatic focus on purpose could take that away from a person. There was nothing wrong with this, even if she still struggled, sometimes, to accept what she felt, who she was, and how she had decided to live.

The first time she, independently of her classes, picked a datapad from the archives and did not let go until well into the night, that was a cherished memory. Tahl still remembers being so small and looking up at the rows and rows of endless knowledge. She remembers her delight. It was a rich life ahead of her, even if back then she would not have expressed it so simply. The handling of complicated emotions is not something she accomplished through so much practice as she did with theory. Pages upon pages of theory. It helped her better than the instinctual and vague understanding the Force offered. It was one thing to know everything would be alright, regardless of what happened, and another to know why. It was one thing to despair and sense her pain was of no importance in the backdrop of the universe, and another to understand living was about _others_ , and experiencing rather than wanting. Releasing the energy of her passion was so much easier then.

It was one thing to fall, exhausted, so many masters watching, and seeing only the tall form of Qui-Gon Jinn, tall and bare-faced, eyes crinkling in triumph, the hints of a handsome face more apparent than ever before, and feeling overcome without knowing why. It was one thing to feel her love grow, her need grow, and question her resolve down to her identity. It was another thing entirely to understand she was done for, by chance, or destiny, or the Force itself, the moment they assigned her to Qui-Gon’s creche. She was done for the moment she, unsuspecting youngling, sat beside him for the first time. She was done for the moment she lost the exhibition tournament to him, and he smiled down at her. It was another thing entirely to understand that loving Qui-Gon Jinn was natural to her, a defining aspect of her life, built by a million unforgettable experiences.

To understand what she felt and what she did, what she loved, and what she prioritized, were separate things.

The Force can never be so clear as _language_.

Unless it was Master Yoda talking. In which case, one was probably better off with contemplation.

It was not the Force, but an understanding of herself and her experiences, that allowed her to now admire Qui-Gon Jinn without guilt. The curve of that muscled neck, the set of his shoulders, and the strength in the shape of his nose. As a master, now, her commitment to the Force could not be sharper, and still, she would enjoy the gift of his presence. 

From the countless hours of beholding her life-long friend, however, little could get past her. If she were a more casual observer, perhaps, she could get away with loving the features without the unease that flared in her heart.

Master Tahl set down her datapad on the coffee table and spoke to the statue leaning back on her couch. “You said you did not want to talk about it.”

Qui-Gon let out a loud breath, uncurling his fingers, and stopped glaring at her terrified tea kettle in favor of giving her a leonine smile. Subdued, but still clearly meant to distract her. “I did.”

She was not immune, per se, but she _was_ a Jedi Master. “I suspect you need to.”

“Tahl,” he said, so softly, then gaining strength, “no. There is nothing to talk about, except in pointing out the obvious. Don’t concern yourself over this. I’ll meditate soon enough- the answers I need will come, then.”

The object of her affections never quite had the same appreciation for words. “Point out the obvious to me, please,” she said, and his look was all aggravation.

But well, what did he expect? She had never gone easy on him.

He gestured vaguely, crossed his arms over his broad chest, all overawing serene male. “My line is crumbling to _darkness_ , _Tahl_ , and I am forbidden from acting.”

Xanatos was a hurtful matter all around, so. “Isn’t it perhaps too soon to worry about your retiring master?”

Qui-Gon shook his head, slowly. “That boy had danger hanging all about him.”

This sad beautiful man, fearing a child. Bant had spoken to her about Obi-Wan Kenobi- a friend, simply put. “He will not be raised as a Jedi, really- one cannot replace the Temple. Everything else is your master’s predicament, now,” she said, settling a hand on his shoulder.

He stared at the ceiling. “He should keep the child well away from the Force.”

“Qui, nobody can do that.”

He sighed. “I know.”

His aggravation was but a sign of his restlessness, she knew. Had it been anyone else but the Council telling him to stay put, she imagines he would have had an easier time considering it. She reached up and tugged at his hair. He let his head to the side and met her eyes. “The peace,” she said, “may do you good. The trail will be covered for now, besides. Wait for a mistake.”

He swallowed. “Xa- he is my responsibility, Tahl. The Force will decide.”

Oh, Qui-Gon. “And what _will_ the Force decide?”

It took a moment, but his look darkened. He stood up then, imposing, and, picking his robe, said, “I suppose you’ll know, Tahl.”

She sighed, picking the datapad again. “Perhaps I won’t- I have a mission to leave for, tomorrow.”

His disposition changed quickly, and he reached out to her hand, which she easily gave- “ _Tahl_ , may the Force be with you.”

She squeezed his hand, “I have your good wishes.”

He only frowned a little at that. “Thanks for the tea.” He let go.

“Those are your leaves,” she pointed out, as he walked out of her rooms.

Qui-Gon was not one for words, for theory. Perhaps because of his connection to the Living Force, perhaps because the Force rarely contradicted his believes, perhaps because he grew under such a well-versed master. Her Qui-Gon had very few explanations for his good acts, and many good acts to contrast against his accidents.

How stubborn he had learned to be.

* * *

* * *

"A thought is harmless unless we believe it. It’s not our thoughts, but our attachment to our thoughts, that causes suffering. Attaching to a thought means believing that it’s true, without inquiring. A belief is a thought that we’ve been attaching to.”  
― Byron Katie

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys! I hope you liked this.
> 
> Little bit of a disclaimer: I have, sadly, not had the opportunity to read the vast collection of Star Wars Legends literature. As such, there are many characters for which I base my interpretation on Wookieepedia. I am also taking a lot of artistic freedoms. As such, how I present the personality of certain characters, like Master Tahl or Lady Jenza, is perhaps not anywhere close to how the official view goes.


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